


Dustwater

by MaladyOfReverie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, But also not Omega Verse, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Horror, I don't know just read it, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Omega Verse, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 08:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaladyOfReverie/pseuds/MaladyOfReverie
Summary: Earth, post-biochemical warfare. At the beginning of his life, Arthur Kirkland knew who he was. The world hated him, but also needed him. He suspected that one day he would do his part and help create a world that his children would be accepted in. It was just a matter of time.His life was always complicated, but it doesn't really start to spiral out of control until he is not needed any longer. Now he and his family have to run like they never have before, in a world where there is nowhere for them to run to. Hiding in the shadows isn't an option when you're trapped in a nightmarish wasteland, where every dark corner is a trap.





	1. Chapter 1

How it seemed so...innocent. That was the most appropriate word. Innocent. Falling in love in a world where evolution had started a new course. But first, we need an explanation.  
  
    Over half a century prior to the events that you are about witness through words, Europe had been suffocating in a plague. Not brought upon by natural anomalies, but man-made ones. A terrible mistake in biochemical warfare engineering.  
Spain had completely collapsed, causing the wealthy and the banks to flee, and total panic to erupt across the former nation. Cities burned; people sealed themselves inside their homes; some chose to flee to neighbouring countries, others travelled further. Citizens who had lost everything rose up and killed most, if not all, political figures. Whoever managed to escape did well in never being heard from again.  
Most of the world was already expecting the Americans and the Russians to begin fighting over how to divide the land, however there was a much less predictable event taking place behind the curtains of chaos. While most members of the United Nations were still discussing how to get a handle on this, and trying to put humanitarian measures in affect, a private agreement was failing to be formed, both parties demanding a higher percentage. It was hopeless.  
    And within 72 hours of the fall of Spain, it was announced that France was at war with Italy. The world was blind-sided, none more than the French and Italian people. Portugal immediately requested loan defence from the EU, terrified of invasion or being collateral damage to the two larger countries.  
Both the Italian and French governments announced a mandatory call to service. For the Italians, the earliest age called was 15, the French 14. The Southern Italians were stubborn, but eventually persuaded. Many Northern Italians complied without difficulty, however a good percentage fled. Specifically a good percentage of teenagers, forced across the border by their distraught parents. Switzerland, being between the two countries, became the capital for diplomatic efforts between them, though everyone took a guess that it would be fruitless. This was the safest place for the young men to escape to.  
    The first few days they travelled by boat, but after word of interceptions by soldiers spread, they travelled by foot up Lake Maggiore. With the seemingly limitless walls of mountains, few places would be as survivable. And none as easy. Especially in winter. The cold winter brought death to many elderly parents and grandparents, especially women, who wanted to stay with their sons or grandsons to the last possible moment (or wanted to escape with them). Mostly by freezing, injury from falls, starvation, or even being shot by soldiers. The entire area became known as ‘Il lago delle anime piangenti’...the lake of weeping souls.  
  
    The French simply refused. The call to service in France was for men and women, both of which responded basically with, ‘Suck my ass.’ The protests were vocal and physical, from dawn to dusk and well into dawn again, with few citizens excluded. They did not know why they should want the land, and if it meant that there had to be blood, let the Italians have it. And the mandatory service, especially of children so young, offended the nation immensely. Due to this outcry, the French government assigned all military personnel they had to the French-Spanish border, but they knew that they would be outnumbered. They began running patriotic propaganda in efforts to convince the French people to enlist to the war wilfully, and when that did not work, they began working on a classified project named Dustwater.  
Apparently their first attempts did not produce the results that they wanted, because the final version that they settled on continuing with was Dustwater-16.  
    As you may have noticed, “Dustwater” doesn’t sound very much like French, but we’ll come back to that--  
    For reasons still not entirely known, almost a year into the war, the Swiss changed their stance. They had announced that by the end of the month they would be offering no more diplomatic or humanitarian support, and would be putting all of their efforts into an alliance with France, whom they predicted that despite appearances would ‘Win the war abruptly, and nearly effortlessly.’  
  
Three months later, even with their resources greatly depleted, Italy was winning the war. France had few ground troops left, and though Italy had suffered it’s fair share of human losses, they had already restructured sixteen areas into bases; four of which where decent size, and filled with weapons, soldiers and artillery. France’s leaders and generals spent no more than twenty minutes in the meeting. The decision was unanimous. The world watched, and the faiths prayed, as Dustwater 16 was launched into Spain.  
  
It was initially the Americans who’s radar system picked up the signal, followed quickly by the English, the Russians, and everyone else. News broke into every television and radio station in the world. The headlines were doomsday level.  
    ‘A nuclear bomb has just been launched from France. Nuclear reciprocation is inevitable.’  
It was thanks to a quick-thinking and quicker reacting soldier in Ukraine that the prayers were not the last this world would hear. The radar monitor paid close notice to the size, and where the bomb was aimed. A nuclear attack, he thought, not only would be stupid and suicidal, but taking the chance would target Italy. The bomb was large enough to impact the entire country. Why would they contaminate the land that they so desperately wanted with amounts of radiation so massive, that they would not be able to safely access it for decades?  
    He couldn’t wonder about it for long, there was no time for that. He called for the general immediately, who approved his theory. Within minutes the general had called the president, who reached out for both the media, and other world leaders, begging everyone to stand down and hold fire.  
  
    ‘What is there to lose now?’ he asked, networks worldwide scrambling for their translators, ‘Please, for just another moment, pull back your fingers and forget your launch codes.’  
  
In an unforeseeably lucky twist, there was compliance. And when Dustwater 16 dropped...nothing. No fire. No explosion. Just a big, wet and dirty cloud of nothing. Satellite cameras couldn’t see through the thick fog that drowned the many Italian, and few French soldiers and former residents in 89.3% Spain. Not yet.  
But they watched. Everyone watched. Waited. Would it clear and leave behind lifeless bodies? Or something more grotesque? Melted carcasses, perhaps?  
No. After ten long minutes the fog faded to a mist, and then faded out completely. It fell to the ground heavily, flooding the streets and covering buildings in a thin mud. Soldiers, citizens, men, women, people, alive. Visibly frightened, confused, but alive.  
It was nothing short of a miracle. In the end Dustwater 16 had failed. That was all that mattered...everyone just hadn’t realised how horribly it had failed yet.  
  
The French freaked out and panicked. The bomb was weird and disturbing and the UN demanded to know exactly what that bomb was supposed to do. They had representatives escorted to the lab in charge of the project within the hour, just in time to find it on fire. Presumably the military had burned up every piece of paper, every drive and every scientist that had anything to do with it, but of course they insisted that it must have been a horrible (yet convenient) accident.  
    But in all of the scrambling, they had let something slip past their minds. New Zealand.  
  
Dr Lucon Royer, the lead of the Dustwater project had been killed in the fire, but not the man who had helped him develop the concept 22 years before, right down to the name, when he had left France and lived in New Zealand for a decade. Oscar Buchanan was a loner, he lived a private life and let few people in. Not many memories or experiences had been made outside of his research, so when he watched a leaked feed of his bomb dropping on Spain, with improvements unmistakably designed by one of his few friends, he recognised it immediately.  
    ‘Non, Lucon,’ he mumbled to himself, eyes lazy with hopelessness.  
  
  
Dr Buchanan wouldn’t find an avenue for publicising his knowledge of the project for another six, gruelling months. He would fight media and government censorship of his claims, before finally meeting a young journalist named Rai Koshidi who would help him expose Dustwater for good. But in that time everyone was already developing theories about the bomb.  
    France had lost. They collapsed and surrendered, leaving to reconstruct what was left of themselves, specifically economically. Most Italian soldiers returned home, while some remained stationed in Spain. Probably to assist their own government in acquiring whatever they had been fighting over, something that the world still speculates over to this day, as Spain remains mostly unpopulated by civilians.  
    One week later, there was official celebration worldwide. Drinks were had not only on behalf of the soldiers fallen, but on global annihilation averted...and then, very suddenly, it struck. Sickness. The first few people hit by the outbreak lived in Venice, soldiers and their wives; but within 12 hours hospitals in every nation were full. Almost everyone under 35-40 developed the strange sickness that doctors couldn’t understand. Endless vomiting, insanity-inducing dizziness, internal bleeding and pain so horrible that people raged out of control. Many people died, it was a miracle everyone didn’t. Men and pregnant women were hit the hardest. According to the censuses, only three expectant mothers worldwide were lucky enough to just miscarry. The rest died within an hour of showing minor symptoms; men’s internal systems bled out harder than anyone else impacted, making it difficult for doctors who couldn’t find the cause of the bleeding to keep them alive; children made it through better than anyone.  
Nine hours after the unexplainable outbreak, it was as if it had never happened. Children woke orphans, stretching as if they had woken from a dream. Adults stopped screaming, and felt as if the pain had never been. There was no more bleeding, and particularly aggressive patients no longer fought against their restraints.  
  
Around six months later, Dr Buchanan finally confirmed what everyone had already assumed. Everyone had been sharing their difficulties and speculations, and now knew it was true.  
    ‘Dustwater 16 was a biological attack. Dustwater was a project that I never perfected, and...Lucon obviously didn’t either. I never found a way to contain it to the target. After the symptoms I saw, I can say positively that nearly every woman under 35 is sterile. I can’t say anything about the damage inflicted on men or boys, because I cannot be sure of that, but it’s not something that doesn’t frighten me. I’m sorry, I,’ his voice broke, and he ran his trembling hands through his hair, ‘this is the end. Women who didn’t develop symptoms may still be able to have children, but I cannot guarantee that they won’t be stillborns. And any daughters will be sterile.  
    Us, the human race, are going extinct.’  
  
  
Fiona Kirkland held her stomach, tears running down her face, ‘It’s okay, little one,’ she said, ‘you-you’ll be fine. We’ll-we’ll be okay.’  
  
And they were. Many children were, relieving the terrible expectations. However, in a combination between Dustwater’s biological attack, and nature trying to repair that damage, some of them were different. Some called it a birth defect, others argued that this was evolution trying to keep up. Religious extremist groups said that God was testing or punishing mankind and the children should be killed, the scientific community insisted that this would not only be a horrible moral, but logical decision; that these children were the only hope in any future, and that they were by all other standards completely healthy.  
    Fiona gave birth later that year in Scotland, and would once more in her lifetime, after moving to Ireland. Two sons, two years apart. Allistor, and then Connor. To her distress, they moved often and always would, for her oldest boy Allistor had “the devil inside of him,” and would run from controversy all of his life, just as other children born “different” in an uncertain world.  
  
  
**\---London, England**  
**19 years later---**  
  
The small bathroom was cold, and so Connor ran a warm bath and left to get a heated blanket, leaving his older brother in the tub. The small telly was set on a table, to give him something to try and keep his mind focused away...it wasn’t doing a particularly decent job of it. Allistor cried out painfully as he stretched to flip the light switch off. Connor would complain about it being bad on his eyes to have the television on in a dark room, but that light wasn’t doing much anyway.  
  
    ‘And next, BBC London takes a look back at Dustwater, almost twenty years after the incident that took the lives of millions, and condemned countless others. And we interview three men living in London with th--’  
    ‘Don’t watch that shite,’ Connor said, coming in and ripping the power cord out of the wall, ‘And what did I tell ye about leaving the light on?’ he added, flipping the depressing, fluorescent light back on.  
Allistor rolled his eyes, ‘Listen ‘ere, ye’ little-aAHHH!’ he screamed out and dropped his cigarette on the tile floor, Connor dropping to his knees beside him and wrapping him in the blanket.  
    ‘Allistor, Allistor,’ Connor panicked, saying his brother’s name over and over as if it would save a life, ‘Allistor, I’m here. Is it okay, Allistor? Allistor?’  
His brother continued to scream, until breaking off into a sob and biting down onto the shoulder of his brother’s shirt.  
    ‘WHY, CONNOR? I WANT TO DIE, I WANT TO die, I want to die...’ he cried out, slamming his fist against the wall, until blood ran down his hand.  
    ‘No, no, no, don’t-don’t-don’t talk like that, o-okay? Don’t yeh be talkin’ so selfish. It’s gonna be all over soon, and it’ll be so worth it, you know it will be,’ he said, putting his hand on his brother’s swollen stomach.  
  
Allistor continued to sob, losing himself in pain and rage. Over and over in his head, ‘You have the devil inside of you, the devil inside of you, the devil, the devil, the devil, the devil, the devil...’  
    The pain grew and grew, over and over. Every time popping like a bubble, leaving him little time to breathe and brace himself for the next contraction.  
      
    ‘That’s it. You need to push, Allistor. Come on, I know that yeh can do this.’  
  
Allistor wrapped his hand tightly around the crucifix that hung from Connor’s neck, ‘God, please, please, please, give me a girl,’ he pleaded for his unborn child between screams, ‘you hear me, you worthless, piece of shite?’  
    ‘Allistor, stop. Ye need to calm down. You’re just making more pain.’  
    ‘Shut UP!’ Allistor yelled, pushing again.  
  
Connor heard the baby crying, a very good sign. Allistor gritted his teeth, trying to stifle himself; and after another push, Connor took the baby in his arms and began cleaning it.  
    Allistor breathed heavily, laying his tired head back over the end of the tub, ‘Is she beautiful?'  
Connor leaned down, the baby lying in his arms on a towel. Allistor smiled looking into the eyes of his baby, green like his own, and suddenly so calm. As if simply seeing it’s mother made everything right in it’s world.  
Allistor’s eyes had a range of emotions, his lips twisting and his eyebrow twitching. He gripped tighter to the cross digging into his palm, and tore it from his brother’s neck with a snap, throwing it hard across the room. It smacked against the mirror, sending glass skidding across the floor tiles.  
    ‘I don’t know why you wear such silly things...get him away from me,’ he whispered, another tear escaping eyes he thought too dry to cry.  
    ‘Allistor, no, he needs ye,’ Connor pleaded, his heart heavy, ‘Please, don’t turn cold. Please, just hold him. Hold yer baby.’  
Allistor turned away, staring blankly at the wall, ‘Take-take him away from me, Connor.’  
    ‘Allis--’ Connor sniffed, ‘Fine...fine, if ye don’t want him, I s’pose we can just throw ‘im away. Who’ll know? It won’t take much.’  
  
Connor stood to his feet, and reached his arms out away from his body. The baby began fussing and wiggling, wanting to be held closer. His little toes catching a chill as he balanced on Connor’s narrow fingers. Allistor looked over as Connor pulled his hands back, the baby falling quickly to the floor.  
  
    ‘NAY!’ Allistor shouted, reaching out and catching his boy, ‘No, no, no, no...’ he went on, holding the frightened child against him, ‘I’m so sorry. Mummy’s so sorry. He’s so sorry...’ his tear-soaked ramblings stopped for a moment, ‘Arthur. I’m sorry, Arthur. You like that? Baby Arthur.’  
Connor smiled and wiped a tear off his face, before crossing his arms again, ‘What a lovely group we three make, aye?’  
    ‘Aye, yes, yes,’ Allistor agreed, kissing Arthur’s soft face.  
Connor knelt down and gently touched Arthur’s head, ‘What do ye know, now? You couldn’t hold ‘im in a little longer? You gone and made a damned Brit, Brother,’ he said with a soft chuckle.  
Allistor chuckled back, ‘Oh, dear...what would Ma say?’  
    ‘She would be happy.’  
Allistor nodded, ‘Yeah, I know she would. You see that, Ma?’ Allistor asked, looking up, ‘Yer a Grandma now.’  
Arthur giggled and smiled, as his mother and uncle held him close in that dirty, hotel bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE:** I didn't use archive warnings because I am not sure exactly what to expect from myself, considering I just started, but there is going to be explicit scenes at some point. Not just sexually, but possibly violently. There also may be some gore.  
>  I don't want to spoil too much, or promise what I might be changing, but this is going to be a mature read.
> 
> I hope that this wasn't too boring. I felt like a backstory was important, and I thought that this wasn't too dull. But I suppose that depends on who's reading it, too. I promise that the following chapters will not be as slow! :)  
> Any feedback is appreciated. I take critique very well, I always want to improve. So, tell me what you think! ;D Did you like it, hate it? It is an AU, so while feedback is appreciated, please, keep that in mind and don't cavil. :P  
> But comments and suggestions are welcome!  
> I intend to have more pairings/ships in it, I just don't know who yet. I am still early on and I am not sure who I will be including. It's honestly more about generally telling the story than it is about the relationships.
> 
> Excited to get to know the AO3 community,  
> -Beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

**\---Paris, France**  
 **20 years later---**  
  
  
    ‘I know, Mum,’ Arthur groaned, ‘I’m not in any alleys, alright?’ he said, hurrying down the alleyway. He knew that it worried Allistor, but he was in a hurry, and this was the best shortcut to the hotel.  
      
Arthur had been on the move, just as his mother and uncle had been, ever since he was a child. They carefully round back to the United Kingdom often, but not without time between. Allistor and Connor were already packed and ready to be leaving the following morning, but Arthur had decided to work late today. He just wanted a little extra money before he quit his part-time job at the café.  
    He hurried through the alleyway, yelling at his mother the entire way, and was knocked to the ground as he ran straight into a man coming around the corner.  
  
    ‘Watch where you walk!’ Arthur shouted, ‘I have to go, Mum, a Frenchman just walked straight into me.’  
    ‘Thanks for the specifics. Give ‘im hell,’ Allistor said, hanging up the phone.  
The Frenchman was on his feet before Arthur had the phone down, and was offering him a hand up,  
    ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.  
Arthur shook his head, ‘No...no thanks to you.’  
    ‘...you are English?’  
    ‘Yes. Arthur,’ he extended his hand.  
    ‘I'm sorry, Arthur. Francis,’ he said, with a comfortable shake.  
Arthur smiled, ‘Well, I am sorry, too, Frank-’  
    ‘-Francis, please, not Frank.’  
    ‘Right, well, I am sorry, Francis. My Mum's nagging me, I'm in a bit of a rush,’ Arthur said, his arm twitching.  
Francis chuckled, ‘Your body behaves as if you consume nothing but coffee.’  
Arthur nodded, ‘The café I work at has the best coffee in Paris.’  
    ‘Really?’ Francis asked, ‘Maybe we should have a cup sometime.’  
Arthur cleared his throat, ‘Well, probably not, actually; worked would be more proper. I quit today.’  
    ‘Oh,’ Francis was disappointed, and Arthur could see that he felt specifically rejected. It wasn’t befitting of his royal blue eyes.  
    ‘Um...but,’ Arthur’s heart beat fast, knowing that Allistor wouldn’t like what he was about to do, ‘I am actually leaving town tomorrow, but we could exchange numbers and next time I am in Paris I could treat you?'  
Francis smiled, ‘Yes, that would be nice. Where are you going?’  
    ‘Scotland, I think. My uncle set up the tickets, I’m not sure.’  
    ‘Well, have a nice trip,’ Francis said, holding up his phone so that Arthur could read his number off the screen.  
    ‘Oh, absolutely! Thank you...okay, I just texted you mine.’  
    ‘See you around, then, mysterious englishman,’ Francis winked.  
Arthur blushed and nodded, putting his phone into his back pocket, ‘Y-Yeah. Don’t-don’t be a stranger, Stranger,’ Arthur said, walking backwards and almost falling into the street.  
Francis put up his hand, ‘Ah-’  
    ‘I got it, I’m good!’ Arthur reassured, catching his balance.  
  
  
Arthur was excited, never having aloud himself to take a leap of faith in someone like that before. He couldn’t stop grinning, thinking about how rebellious he was being. He did feel a little badly, thinking of how Allistor just worried for him, but he couldn’t help himself. He wondered the whole walk back to the hotel why Francis didn’t mention that he had been to the café at least a dozen times, (always leaving Arthur generous tips, despite the fact that everyone else never did more than complain about his attitude) and decided that it must have been because he was shy and thought that Arthur didn’t recognise him, or that he was trying to make a memorable first impression. Arthur thought that both possibilities were equally cute.  
    He kept thinking of how Francis looked at him. It made him feel so desirable. He always thought that he had confidence enough on his own, but this felt so much more special. For someone to look at him the way Francis did made him feel...and outside of the hotel he realised that he had developed a slight erection. He reached around to check, and was upset to find that he was wet; he hoped that no one had noticed the puddle on the back of his trousers.  
  
  
    ‘And what took you so long?’ Allistor asked, as Arthur ran in and rushed to the bathroom.  
    ‘I’ll be right out.’  
Allistor raised an eyebrow, ‘What’s wrong, me love?’  
    ‘Nothing.’  
    ‘Let me come in, Arthur.’  
    ‘Stop it, Mum!’  
‘“Stop it, Mum” Come now, what am I going to see in there?’  
    ‘Nothing, because you’re not coming in. I’m just using the loo, Mum.’  
Allistor sighed, ‘Fine, fine. Well, Connor packed your bags for you...’  
    ‘WHAT?!’ Arthur shrieked.  
    ‘Yes, he found that, too.’  
Arthur pouted, ‘And what of it, you wankers?’  
    ‘Do you want to talk about it?’  
    ‘No, I don’t want to talk about it! I am 20 years old, I can do whatever I like with my body! Are you to say that you didn’t have one when you were my age?’  
Allistor yawned, ‘No, I’m not going to say that. As a fact, I still do have one, I just wanted to know if you did.’  
    ‘So you deliberately told Uncle Connor to go through my things?!’  
    ‘No. I lied. Now go pack your...private possessions.’  
Arthur swung open the bathroom door, nosterels flaring, ‘I hate you.’  
Allistor giggled while his son went to pack his things.  
  
  
Arthur, Allistor and Connor stayed in Scotland through the entire summer. Connor had a job helping a local sheep farmer, Allistor and Arthur stayed busy cleaning a local inn for minimum wage. Arthur and Francis, much to both’s surprise, got to know each other well. They talked often, daily. Francis had a lot of questions about him, and Arthur tried to keep the lies to a minimum. He had never been a very depressed person, but this summer he found himself crying a lot. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but Francis was beginning to become important to him. And he didn’t know how to feel about it. He couldn’t know him like his mother and uncle knew him. Allistor had warned him about that.  
    ‘Yeah, they’ll tell ya that yer special, but don’t you go fallin’ for that shite. We’re nothing but kinky exhibitions to ‘em, trust me. I know. After they get their dicks wet, fags telling themselves it wasn’t like pussy, and fuckboys saying it wasn’t gay. And then yer five months pregnant and ain’t no one taking you home to meet the grandparents.’  
    No, Arthur definitely couldn’t tell him. It was a fearful thought.  
  
  
For some reason, Arthur still decided that he wanted to return to France that autumn, despite his worry. He told Allistor that he missed some friends from the café. His mother did find it a little bizzare, considering that Arthur had always prefered returning home to London over any other destination, but decided that it wasn’t a big deal.  
  
    ‘If that’s where you want to be, I s’pose,’ he said, with a shrug, ‘Connor, we’re going to Paris.’  
Connor’s bloodstained fingers pulled the phone away from his ear, ‘Paris? But I’m setting up tickets to Denmark right now. I thought we settled on spending the season there.’  
    ‘Artie decided he wanted to visit some friends in Paris. Now, now, why don’t you give me the phone? I’ll take care of our flight, you go take a shower. You’re covered in sheep guts.’  
    ‘Fine. Here. This woman is a complete idiot, have fun.’  
  
Arthur’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He unlocked it quickly, but trying not to look too excited, seeing he had a text from Francis.  
  
     **Francis|6:15pm**  
    _it’s getting cold here  
     **Francis|6:15pm**  
    _you should see the trees. paris could be so beautiful  
  
Arthur smiled. Francis was such an eloquent, but dramatic person. Arthur found it odd the way that someone who was so happy, and appreciated so much beauty, could seem so sad sometimes. He thought that he had a unique way of expressing himself.  
  
     **Arthur|6:17pm**  
    _I thought that it was beautiful already. What is it missing?  
     **Francis|6:17pm**  
    _you  
  
Allistor looked out the corner of his eye to see Arthur sitting by the window, blushed up like a shy child. ‘Yeah, three tickets...’  
  
     **Francis|6:20pm**  
    _iggy?  
     **Francis|6:21pm**  
    _i’m sorry  
     **Francis|6:21pm**  
    _i was just playing i didnt mean anything  
     **Francis|6:22pm**  
    _we can just forget about it  
  
    ‘Give it back!’ Arthur shrieked.  
Allistor kept evading him, scrolling through his messages, ‘No.’  
    ‘Mum!’  
    ‘No.’  
Arthur managed to grab the phone from Allistor’s hand and run with it. He fled to the small bedroom and slammed the door shut, falling down in front of and pushing all his weight against it. He put his hands over his ears and screamed out. At first he thought that it was anger, but after a moment he noticed that he was smiling.  
He fumbled to scroll back to his most recent messages.  
  
     **Arthur|6:25pm**  
    _Frank?  
     **Arthur|6:26pm**  
    _Are you there?  
     **Arthur|6:26pm**  
    _I’m sorry. My mother took my phone. You didn’t say anything wrong.  
     **Francis|6:26pm**  
    _lol how old are you  
     **Arthur|6:27pm**  
    _Yeah, I know. :) But he’s angry, I should leave. I have a surprise, though! I’m coming back to Paris.  
     **Arthur|6:27pm**  
    _*she’s angry lol  
     **Francis|6:27pm**  
    _when?!  
     **Arthur|6:28pm**  
    _Soon. Very soon.  
     **Francis|6:28pm**  
    _well i don’t want you in trouble  
     **Francis|6:28pm**  
    _goodnight i love you  
  
  
Arthur’s eyes widened. He read it over five times. ‘I love you.’ He began to feel warm, and then hot. Love. Holding hands and kissing. Touching and wanting. Lusting and moaning. Breathing and groaning and...sex. Sex and childr-  
    He was pulled from his thoughts, falling backward into the hall of the hotel room. Above him stood Allistor, his hand on the doorknob a sudden reminder to Arthur that this door pulled open from the outside.  
  
    ‘You fuckin’ idiot.’  
Arthur glared and pushed himself to his feet, ‘Mum, don’t you dare-’  
    ‘-SHUT UP!’  
    ‘OH, YOU SHUT UP! WHAT’S WRONG WITH IT?’  
    ‘YOU KNOW DAMN WELL! YOU WANT TO BRING ANOTHER BASTARD INTO THIS FAMILY?!’  
    ‘IS THAT WHAT I AM?! NOTHING BUT A FILTHY, ENGLISH BASTARD!’  
    ‘YOU...U...’ He hummed angrily. More at himself than Arthur.  
Arthur stared, face red with anger, ‘YOU BITCH! YOU LITERAL BITCH!’ he stormed to the bathroom and locked himself inside.  
    ‘Ar-’ Allistor cut his own speech off and screamed, pounding his fist on the bathroom door, ‘Arthur, I’m sorry.’  
    ‘Go away. I hate you, you slut.’  
    ‘Okay, you can have that one this time. I deserve that. Will you please come out and talk to me?’  
  
Arthur buried his face in his hands and sobbed. He tried to be quiet, but Kirklands weren’t a quiet kind. Allistor could hear him. He put his head against the door and shed a few tears of his own, rubbing the door with his hand like he wanted to comfort his son.  
  
    ‘It’s okay, Arthur. It’s okay.’  
  
Connor walked by, hair dripping and lower half wrapped in a towel. He began rummaging through his luggage, making sure that he had packed his identification.  
  
He looked to Allistor, as he zipped his compartments shut, ‘You two fighting again?’  
    ‘Aye...yeah, I--his father,’ Allistor replied with a nod, before hanging his head in shame.  
Connor shook his head, ‘Good. Great. Did you get us booked?’  
    ‘Yes, I already paid.’  
    ‘Well,’ Connor threw his arms in the air, ‘just fucking fix this, then, I guess.’  
    ‘I will. Give us five minutes, a’right?’  
    ‘Fine. I’ll be downstairs. And try to keep it down, I can hear the assholes next door complaining.’  
Allistor scoffed, ‘Let ‘em be pissed.’  
  
Connor shook his head and left the room, leaving the door wide open behind himself.  
  
    ‘Arthur, we need to go. We can wait at the airport. We were supposed to be out two hours ago. Let’s go before they drag us out of here.’  
Arthur looked up from the floor, ‘We’re still going to Paris?’  
    ‘I don’t have much of a choice now. I already paid for the tickets, and we need to leave.’  
    ‘...I’m sor-’  
    ‘-no. Don’t be. What I said was inexcusable. I was just scared. You were right to lash out.’  
Arthur inhaled deeply, ‘Mum, I don’t want to be afraid of loving someone. Of letting someone love me.’  
    ‘I don’t want you to be, either, Artie. But you have to be careful.’  
    ‘Did you love my father, Mum?’  
Allistor sighed, ‘...yes. Yes, I did. His name was Kert. ‘e was so beautiful, Arthur. And powerful. He made me feel invincible. And my mother ‘nd I fought over him,’ he laughed, ‘we yelled for hours over it. She warned me that he was irresponsible, just like my father...she told me that if there was ever anything I ever needed t’ know about my father, it was that I was dating him.  
    There is one fight we had that I will always remember. I told her,  
    “I can’t live without him.”  
And she told me,  
    “That’s exactly how it feels. But believe me, you can. But one day you won’t be able to, and when that day comes, when you truly cannot survive without him, he won’t be there.”  
...and four months later...I found out that I was pregnant. I texted your father that night. I haven’t heard from him since. The next day, before I even had a chance to tell ‘er that she was right, your Grandmother died...god...I never needed anyone so much.’  
  
The door clicked open, and Arthur found Allistor sitting on the floor. He fell to his knees beside his mother, wrapping his arms around him and holding on until his knuckles turned white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluffiness between Arthur and Francis this chapter! I love what a hopeless romantic Francis is, he's so adorable. I just hope that Arthur's hesitance doesn't make him feel too despaired. ;)
> 
> The texts were fun to do. At first I wasn't sure how I wanted to write them, but after I figured that out, it was really cool.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads it! And a big thank you to Cuckooclover!  
> You guys rock. ♥
> 
> _  
> **•••Beautiful•••**  
> _


	3. Chapter 3

Connor’s headphones released relaxing noise as he played tetris on his cellphone. Arthur and Allistor sat across from him, sleeping deeply. He smiled watching Arthur adjust; he was laid across almost four chairs, his head on his mother’s lap.  
The airport was crowded when they had arrived, but as time rolled along, and flights left, it became rather empty. Connor stayed awake through the dead of night, unable to get comfortable enough to sleep here. Or maybe just unwilling to not watch over them.  
  
    The plane arrived in Paris on the first day of autumn. It was a brilliant afternoon, the sunlight shining across the colourful leaves, dancing in the light breeze. The three relatives made their way to the carousel for their luggage, when Arthur saw standing across from it was someone unmistakable.  
  
    He walked away from the carousel, dazed, ‘Frank?’  
Francis smiled and walked towards him, hands in his pockets, ‘Bonjour. Surprised?’  
    ‘Well,’ Arthur scoffed, looking away from him, ‘no, not really. This is honestly predictable of you, what with your hopeless-romanticism. I mean, you’re complet-’  
  
Arthur’s words were intercepted, long fingers entwined in his hair, his mouth pressed against soft, warm lips. He made a noise of protest and pushed Francis’ chest, but the Frenchman held on until Arthur’s eyes closed and he kissed him back.  
  
    ‘How about now?’ Francis asked, unlocking gently.  
Arthur looked with weak eyes, ‘What?’  
    ‘Are you surprised now?’  
  
Arthur slapped Francis across the face, sending his long hair flying like someone in a shampoo commercial, ‘Are you surprised now?’ he asked angrily.  
  
Francis flipped his hair back to place and held his sore face, ‘No, not really,’ he said, in a painfully horrible mock-English accent, ‘that was honestly predictable of you, considering your-’  
    ‘How dare ye’!’ Allistor shouted, a punch this time pushing Francis to the floor.  
    ‘No!’ Arthur pulled Allistor away.  
Francis wiped his lip and pulled away his hand, finding blood on his fingers, ‘Are you crazy?! Who are you?!’  
    ‘I’M HIS GOD DAMN-’  
Connor cleared his throat behind him, carrying his backpack, as well as the luggage that Allistor and Arthur had left on the carousel.  
    ‘BROTHER!’ he quickly saved, ‘You slimy frog.’  
    ‘Brother?’ Francis asked, coming to his feet, ‘Well, Sir, I am not sure how things work in the UK, but here we call what you just did assault!’  
    ‘You fucking punk.’  
Arthur chuckled nervously and scratched his head, ‘I think first impressions could have gone better.’  
Connor nodded, watching Francis and Allistor argue, ‘Aye,’ he said, shoving Arthur’s luggage into his arms.  
    ‘Oof,’ Arthur took hold of his things, and followed Connor over to his mother and...boyfriend?  
    ‘Take your bag, you arse,’ Connor said, interrupting Allistor from his next condescending remark.  
Allistor looked at him frustrated, upset that he had gotten between him and Francis, but took his bag none the less.  
  
Francis offered to help Arthur with his luggage, but was unsurprised that he pulled it away from him and insisted, grumpily, on doing it himself. He was used to his stubbornness.  
    Outside Connor and Allistor summoned a taxi, and rushed Arthur to put his bags in the back.  
  
    ‘Get in,’ Allistor ordered, holding the door open for Arthur.  
Arthur looked back at Francis, ‘I was...’ he stopped, unsure, and changed his mind, ‘I’m sorry.’  
Francis nodded, ‘I see,’ he looked left and right, taking in his surroundings. This was a moment he would remember for a while, ‘Goodbye, Arthur,’ he said, with sadness in his tone.  
    ‘Wait, no,’ Arthur pleaded, stepping lightly away from the cab, and grabbing the cuff of Francis’ shirt, ‘Frank, don’t go.’  
Francis groaned, ‘Why? Arthur, I am an adult. I don’t want to tiptoe around like a teenager.’  
    ‘Arthur, let’s go!’ Allistor demanded.  
    ‘Frank, please, you won’t. Now let’s go get some coffee, okay?’  
Francis nodded, and even smiled a little. ‘Oui.’  
  
Allistor angrily climbed into the taxi cab next to his brother, slamming the door behind him. Arthur appeared angry to Francis, but he was sad and anxious more than anything.  
    Francis reached out for Arthur’s hand. He was a little reluctant at first, but let him hold it. After a moment, he let himself like it. How warm Francis was, how perfectly their fingers fit together. They slowly relieved the tension between them on the walk to the café.  
  
    ‘Hey, Iggy.’  
    ‘Yes?’  
  
Francis knelt down, Arthur’s hand still in his own.  
  
Arthur looked confused, ‘What are you doing?’  
    ‘I would like to, on behalf of all of Paris, thank you for making our city beautiful again.’  
  
Arthur laughed. And with the sunbeams lighting up his face, Francis thought to himself that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. He smiled and kissed Arthur’s hand, before standing up beside him and boldly taking him into his arms. Arthur just laughed more, as they finished their walk into the café.  
  
  
    ‘SON OF A BITCH!’ Allistor yelled, throwing a lamp off of the nightstand. It crashed against the wall beside him, as Connor flipped through the pages of The Shining.  
    ‘Don’t yeh be taking my head off over it,’ he said, smiling as he opened the page he had forgotten to bookmark.  
Allistor snatched the book from his hands, ‘Don’t you have no concern? None at all?’  
    ‘What do you expect from me!?’ Connor got off the bed and reached for his book, ‘I didn’t stop you, did I?’  
    ‘What the hell is that s’pposed to mean, Connor Kirkland?’  
    ‘You think tha’ Ma didn’t yell when you weren’t around?  
        I just think it best to let people make their own mistakes,’ he replied, snagging his hardback, ‘that’s how life is intended to be lived. Better he make those mistakes now, while he still has you here, instead of a dumb head and no one to run to.’  
    ‘He’s not dumb, he’s just...stubborn. And a little reckless sometimes. He gets that from me. Dumb would be if he were your’s.’  
Connor sneered and fell back onto the bed, losing himself in the pages of his book.  
  
  
The café was relatively empty this evening. Arthur ran his finger around the rim of his cup, as Francis read him one of his favourite french poems. Arthur nodded politely, but he had a feeling that either Francis wasn’t translating this properly, or the writer was completely mad. He may as well have read it to him in french.  
  
Francis sighed and put down his book, ‘Doesn’t that just make your soul heavy?’  
    ‘Um...certainly, in a way.’  
    ‘What was your favourite part?’  
    ‘That thing about the angel eating herself?’  
Francis smiled, ‘Yes! That is my favourite part, too!’ he nodded, ‘Words are so powerful.’  
    ‘Uh huh,’ Arthur grunted, taking a drink of his coffee.  
    ‘You didn’t really like it, did you?’  
Arthur spit up his coffee, and set down his cup, ‘No, I thought-’ he almost lied, but thought that he had told Francis plenty of those already, ‘I thought that it was the worst piece of literature I have ever heard,’ he admitted, with a shrug.  
    ‘I certainly would hope so.’  
    ‘But-but it’s your favourite.’  
    ‘No. I made it up as I went along, I was just teasing you.’  
Arthur laughed, ‘Oh, thank goodness.’  
    ‘You want to hear something better?’  
    ‘Sure.’  
Francis cleared his throat,  
    ‘    My lover’s breath is like a rose  
        A beautiful scent drives me wild  
        It stings my neck like a thorn  
        As I reach for the stem,  
        It blooms with sound in my ear  
        It’s captivation is beyond compare  
        When we are close we are all  
        And I hear nothing beyond us  
  
     Did you like it?’  
Arthur slowly replied, ‘Yes. It was beautiful. Who wrote it?’  
    ‘I did,’ Francis said, ‘For you.’  
Arthur blushed and grabbed his hands, rubbing them together anxiously, ‘But...we’ve never-’  
    ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Francis interrupted calmly.  
  
Arthur was unsure what to say, and even if he had been he wasn’t sure he could say it. Francis caught on quickly.  
  
    ‘You should meet up with your brother soon. He seemed angry,’ Francis suggested.  
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Yes, I should. He has a terrible temper.’  
    ‘I will see you soon. I hope.’  
    ‘Yes. I’ll text you tonight, if I can.’  
  
Arthur grabbed his coat. He leaned over and gave Francis a hug goodbye, before running outside and hurrying around the corner. Francis watched him, as he sat and finished his drink. After meeting his brother, he honestly had hoped that Arthur would text him to let him know he was alright, but he knew Arthur wouldn’t have appreciated the concern, so he was relieved that he offered on his own.  
    He finished his cup of coffee and stepped out into the cool evening, an uncertain feeling in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little late in it's arrival. I am sorry to anyone who is actually reading this! ≧☉_☉≦ I was really busy, but I am so happy to have had some time to finally sit down and write! So relaxing!  
> Anyway, per usual, any feedback is welcomed and appreciated. ^_^ Really, _THANK YOU FOR READING AND CRITIQUING!_ The story is building up to where it needs to be, and I hope that I am not pushing it too quickly.
> 
>  **SPECIAL THANK YOU TO CUCKOOCLOVER!** I tried to focus on your advice about dialogue. I hope that this is an improvement!
> 
>  
> 
> **•••Beautiful•••**


	4. Chapter 4

That had to be the best October of his life. Maybe it wasn’t as colourful as spring, warm as summer, or majestic as winter, but in the season of death Arthur had never felt so alive. He picked up his job at the café again. After three nights of arguments so horrible that Connor left town for the weekend, Arthur threatened to leave and Allistor finally agreed to back off. Francis was at their apartment almost every day now. And when he wasn’t, Arthur was often with him.  
  
    ‘I love you,’ Francis purred in Arthur’s ear one evening, as they sat bundeled up on the balcony of Francis’ apartment.  
Arthur smiled and sipped his hot cocoa, looking at the photo of the Eiffel Tower that Francis had hanging in the window, for the full romantic effect.  
    ‘Frank,’ Arthur sat down his mug, and took Francis’ cold hands, ‘Can I tell you something?’  
Francis nodded, with a concerned smile, ‘Oui, mon amour.’  
He could feel Arthur’s palms sweating in his hands, and his voice broke as a tear ran down his face, ‘I’m-I’m...I’m in love with you, too.’  
    ‘Oh, Arthur,’ he took him in his arms, ‘don’t cry. It’s okay.’  
Arthur hugged him back. He didn’t make another sound, the tears running down his face and soaking into Francis’ jumper. He held on tightly, he wanted to scream out his secrets. He wanted to imagine Francis holding his face and kissing him passionately, telling him that he adored him no matter what, but all that he could imagine was him looking at him with hatred burning deep in his eyes. Grabbing his wrist forcefully, throwing him over the balcony.  
    ‘Disgusting,’ he would hiss.  
And it was silly. So silly, so unnatural that Arthur almost laughed, but it was terrifying as well. It was a subconscious truth that he couldn’t shake free.  
    ‘Arthur?’ Francis shook him lightly.  
Arthur’s eyes focused on him, ‘Yes?’  
    ‘Where were you?’ Francis chuckled.  
    ‘I was just...thinking that it’s late.’  
    ‘It is, isn’t it? Would you like to stay?’  
Arthur swallowed and stood up, ‘I shouldn’t. Allistor will worry.’  
    ‘Let him,’ Francis suggested playfully.  
Arthur shook his head, ‘No, I couldn’t do that.’  
Francis took Arthur’s hands and pulled him inside, spinning him in a circle.  
    ‘Siri, Time Stand Still, Rush, le volume 90’  
    ‘Wha-What are you-’  
Francis dipped Arthur back, ‘Hush.’  
    ‘Frank!’ Arthur squealed excitedly.  
Francis was a pretty decent dancer, sadly Arthur wasn’t very good, but Francis didn’t make him feel embarrassed about it. He slowed down and danced with him at a gentle pace. Arthur let his eyes relax in the dim light, and let the music tell him the way that his body should be moving. He felt fluid, like the smooth flow of water. He knew that he probably looked horribly silly, but he just kept on anyway. Francis’ fingertips brushed against his cheek, and Arthur’s skin took a chill from it. He looked into his eyes, and the way that Francis looked at him, he thought maybe he didn’t look so bad after all.  
    Arthur heard himself exhale so rough and came to the sudden realisation of how sexual this felt. He brushed past Francis and felt his erection in his trousers. It made him feel hot.  
    Francis took his hand and spun him under his arm, taking him from behind and pressing against his back and buttocks. Arthur’s breath stopped as he slid his hands down over his groin, in a crossed-hand fashion.  
    ‘Stop!’ Arthur yelped and the music abruptly paused.  
Francis breathed heavily in his ear, ‘I’m sorry. That was fun, non?’  
    ‘I need to go home now,’ Arthur said, looking up at him apologetically.  
    ‘Why won’t you stay? Is it because you are afraid? I won’t do anything.’  
He shook his head and grabbed his bag from by the door.  
    ‘Goodnight,’ he said, before leaving.  
Francis banged his fist on the wall and hurried to undress. He pulled the blanket from his bed roughly and laid down, wondering to himself what he was doing wrong. He wanted Arthur to trust him, to want for him as badly as he did for Arthur. He wrapped his fingers around his hardened appendage and moved vigorously. He closed his eyes and pictured Arthur and he entwined on the sheets, but couldn’t manage to imagine how deeply pleasurable the sensation would be. The frustration just made him angrier, but he knew that he couldn’t even imagine that feeling alone. There was no doubting it this time. This time, he was truly in love.  
  
Arthur’s vision was blurred with tears by the time he made it outside of Francis’ place. The lights from street lamps and passing cars danced colourfully in the watery reflection below his eyes. He rubbed his face with his sleeves as he walked across the road. He felt a heavy, metallic machine bang stopped against his leg; the woman honked her horn and began shouting French vulgarities at him.  
    Arthur caught himself on her hood, ‘I’m going!’ he screamed at her, taking advantage of the situation to use the ultimate, Kirkland-self-help-method: anger. If you’re feeling sad, don’t let it get you down. Just get mad, and shout away that frown.  
    It was only a short walk back home-well, what was home for now-Francis didn’t live in the nicest part of the city. Maybe not the worst, but certainly not the nicest and Arthur, though he knew to walk fast and not to look at them, could hear people and knew them to be speaking to him. Mostly in French, but he did pass a few men speaking English.  
    ‘What’s wrong?’ one asked smoothly.  
    ‘Come sit down, warm yourself,’ another.  
Arthur kept on wiping his eyes, keeping pace and looking straight ahead. He took a deep breath and that’s when he heard it; the blade click open. Arthur wasn’t keeping pace now, he was running. Water splashed up his legs every puddle his feet travelled through until he was drenched, but he didn’t slow until he was outside of his hotel.  
    ‘No feckin’ slamming!’ Connor complained, throwing his magazine at Arthur.  
Arthur exhaled heavily, his body pressed tight against the door. He picked up the magazine from the floor and threw it back at his uncle.  
    ‘What is your problem?’  
    ‘I got a headache,’ Connor replied, rolling to his side, ‘dizzy...’  
Allistor was trying to make a healthy decision in the kitchen. He had started attempting to distract himself from Arthur through various hobbies and vices. First had been knitting, but he was far too impatient for that; he had gone into a violent rage and burned all of his yarn by the end of the day. That had been followed by trying baking, singing, yoga, making illegal drugs, trying said drugs, selling said drugs, claiming to date a man named “Gus”, quitting drugs, breaking up with Gus, telling the police that the neighbours were drug addicts, and now dieting. It had been a busy week.  
    ‘Arthur, is that you?’ Allistor asked.  
Arthur was well out of breath, but he still answered, ‘Yes, Mum, it’s me.’  
    ‘What is healthier, apples or radishes?’  
Arthur’s face twisted into an irritated, confused expression, ‘I don’t know. Those are rather different flavours, why don’t you just eat what you want?’  
Connor groaned, ‘Don’t say that, he’s been-’  
    ‘Because it’s important, damn it!’ Allistor shouted from the kitchen.  
    ‘-in there for three hours.’  
Arthur threw his jacket down onto the chair by the door. ‘Why?’  
    ‘He says he wants a fruit salad, but he can’t figure out if it’s too unhealthy.’  
    ‘Unhealthy? How much more unhealthy can we get?’ Arthur asked, though it was more of a statement.  
    ‘That’s what I told ’im, but he says it’s part of his new “diet”.’  
    ‘Diet?’ Arthur chuckled, ‘How much skinnier does he intend to be?’  
Connor smiled, ‘’bout as skinny as you, I’m afraid.’  
    ‘Fuck you, Connor,’ Arthur said monotone, walking into the kitchen. ‘Mum, what’s up?’  
    ‘Nothing. Do you want some fruit?’ he asked, pointing to some sliced plum with the knife in his hand. Allistor was never much of a chef, apparent by the small drop of blood on the cutting surface he was working with.  
Arthur smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you. Are you making a salad?’  
    ‘Don’t patronise me, ya’ little shit. I can hear ya’ both in there.’ Allistor replied loudly.  
    ‘Connor’s just worried about you.'  
Allistor stabbed into a piece of plum and pulled it off the knife with his teeth. ‘You look like shite. What happened?’  
    ‘Nothing,’ Arthur said, shaking his head and leaning in to kiss Allistor’s forehead, ‘It’s late, Mum. You should go to bed.’  
    ‘Fuck that.’  
Arthur sighed. ‘Fine. Goodnight.’  
For a moment he thought that he may have more to say, but definitely decided against it. He had far too many things to consider tonight; there was no need for more polluting thoughts to keep him awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather short addition, I know, but we are about to move forward and so I wanted to get some final details and characterisation evened out prior to all of that. Do tell me what you think! ^_^


End file.
